"Little angel, little angel..." it murmurs to itself, clicking its claws together absentmindedly as it wanders through the core with a mouthful of flowers.

It does not know what an 'angel' is. It cannot know what an angel is—but it woke up with the word in mind, and as far as it's concerned, it is an angel.

"Little, little, little..." it whispers, mouth thick with the taste of sap and stems. It likes the way the golden fluid oozes from the flowers when it breaks them—but it is being extra-gentle with this bundle of flowers, despite the way porcelain teeth dig into them from a jagged mouth, because the flowers are not for it.

The flowers are for the Spire.

What is the Spire? It, too, does not know. It has taken to calling it angel, too, muttering, murmuring; it does not know what the Spire is, that monolith of crackling rock and ozone, but it knows it is magic.

It knows it is afraid of the Spire, that towering, looming thing. It did not know fear, before it met the Spire. It knows fear now; feels the tremble in its chest when it stands before it, as it does now, wildflower bouquet tucked behind teeth.

There is already a small collection of little offerings before the Spire; rocks, mostly, in varying degrees of shininess. It bows its head down to the stone, bending crest-legs nearly flat against its back, seeming—being so small against the skystone light.

The flowers touch the ground, roll out of its mouth; exoskeletal plates fold back and it skitters away a few steps, eyes locked on the stone.

"Angel, angel, angel..." it whispers, soft and nearly drowned by the Spire's crackling.

@Renasci

Renasci had been haunting the cave. All their assorted ropes, bracer, traps and the like are tucked away in some distant corner. They only bear a rope belt woven with assorted rocks of interesting shapes tied in, and a loop tightened around their shoulders to hold the sardonyx-bladed spear between their shoulders and wings along their back.

The Spire both pulled at and pushed away Renasci's instincts. Glow, power, danger, a higher point for observation, all blend together to make nothing more than confusion in the harpy's mind.

Which they dislike.

Immensely.

Though, on a positive note for their curiosity, they'd seen recent evidence of someone else being around the Spire. Some shinies, trinkets, temptation for the part of them that has a hoard in Leo, but they leave the offerings at the base of the of the Spire.

High above the crystals, the harpy eyes the new moving shape. Maybe they can get some answers from the other shape, so they fold their wings and drop from the air. Bringing some magic to bear and to make their landing softer, they cast about for heat, and try to make it rise from the ground and make an updraft to cup in their feathers.

"When I speak"
When I think

@Apollyon